


The Search for the Perfect Pumpkin

by callmechristinae



Series: Livejournal Migration [1]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-25
Updated: 2006-01-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:03:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmechristinae/pseuds/callmechristinae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bleeding heart cameraman and pretty boy front man set out to find the perfect pumpkin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Search for the Perfect Pumpkin

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't by any means a new work, but I wanted to transfer over all my old stuff from Livejournal. This was the first fanfic I wrote over seven years ago! I hope you enjoy it :)

"How did we get here? How the hell…” Mark panned his camera across the sea of orange, little children running in every direction as their parents scrambled to keep up. This was definitely not how he was planning to spend his day. He zoomed in and out on the ground right in front of him, wasting film and not caring. He looked back up, focusing on the reason he was stuck outside on the miserable cold cloud covered October day.

“Well, first I dumped a bucket of water on your bed. Then, we got dressed and opened the door, walked down the stairs, made a left…” Roger explained cheekily, grinning up into the camera as he poked around at the options surrounding him. His grin grew even wider as he saw Mark’s bored expression shift to one of almost anger. Mark couldn’t look intimidating if his life depended on it.

“Roger.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re the one who asked.”

Mark stamped his foot, his camera bobbing and him making a perfect imitation of a five year old. “C’mon Roger, it’s freezing!” he whined, his voice going up an octave. “Just pick one already!”

“This is a very delicate process Mark. You’ve gotta get one without this moldy stuff, you see,” Roger explained, picking up the pumpkin closest to him and indicating the fuzzy mass on its side. He gently set it back down, reaching for the one next to it. “Then, you need a round and plump one, like this one. But, you see how it’s all dented?”

Mark glanced around quickly, pointing his foot at the one closest to him and aiming his camera at it. “How about this one?”

“That’s perfect!” Roger shouted, leaping to his feet.

“Really?”

“No.”

“C’mon Roger!”

“Look, it’s too fuckin’ skinny,” Roger sighed, already moving on to the next pumpkin in line. “No wonder you picked it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re too fuckin’ skinny,” Roger clarified, emphasizing each word with a jab to Mark’s ribs. Mark swiftly backpedaled, moving out of his roommate’s reach. “I believe we went over this already.”

“I’m not ‘too fucking skinny.’ I’m just slender,” Mark replied defensively, pulling at his jacket once Roger turned away.

“Whatever. Here ya go! Now this is a pumpkin!” Roger picked up a round, plump, non fuzzy pumpkin, grinning eagerly as he shoved the vegetable towards Mark’s camera lens.

“How is that different from all the other ones we’ve seen in the past twelve hours?” Mark sighed, panning back up to Roger’s face.

“It hasn’t been twelve hours, stop complaining.”

“I’ve got at least three hours of film of pumpkins. Pumpkins Roger!” Mark spun around, taking in the entire lot in frustration. Roger laughed, his hand outstretched in case Mark sent himself flying to the ground.

“Just edit it and turn it into some of that artistic shit. It represents growth and death and the pain of being orange or something.”

“Great. But, o’ great surveyor of overgrown squash, how are we going to pay for this pumpkin?”

“Don’t you have any money?” Roger asked, confusion taking over his features.

“You dumped water on me, yelled at me to get dressed, tossed me over your shoulder, and carried me down the stairs. When during this time do you think I had time to get money?” Mark shouted, his free hand flying about.

“Good point. Hold this.”

“Oof!” Mark grunted, barely holding onto the pumpkin that was shoved towards him. “Where are you going?”

“To Joanne’s,” Roger explained, rolling his eyes as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“But she’s at work.”

“I know.”

“You’re going to go all the way to Joanne’s office while I stand here holding this damn pumpkin?” Mark’s eyes narrowed as he stalked towards his roommate, the pumpkin safely balanced on his hip.

“That’s the plan.” Roger chuckled nervously, moving backwards to get some distance between himself and the frustrated filmmaker.

“Roger!”

“But you’ve got to guard it! Someone might take it!”

“I look like a moron!”

“And how is that any different than how you usually look?”

Mark glared at the musician, his eyes narrowed to mere slits and red creeping up his face. He didn’t look intimidating, but an angry Mark was something Roger never wanted to deal with. It was frightening how imaginative the normally placid boy could get when seeking revenge. Roger sighed in defeat.

“Fine, we’ll think of something else.”

“You could have thought of this earlier before you dragged me down here. I might have had plans today you know,” Mark complained, his face regaining its normal pale coloring.

“When was the last time you had plans that you couldn’t get out of to go pumpkin shopping with me?” Roger asked, smiling as he hopped back and forth over a line of pumpkins.

“Well…there was that time, ummm…” Mark grasped for a memory, any memory, where he wasn’t willing to give into whatever the striking songwriter wanted.

“Exactly. Now, come on. Think with me.” Roger landed rather ungracefully on his final jump, stumbling for a foot or two before regaining his balance.

“Do you need to borrow some of my brain waves? I mean, I know you don’t have much up there…”

“Mark.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Ok. Well, you’ve got you’re guitar,” Mark pointed out, indicating the leather strap slashing across Roger’s chest with a tilt of his camera.

“Of course.”

“So, go out there. Go, go do your thing. There’s a nice street corner over there.”

“Huh?”

“Play Roger,” Mark grumbled, silently questioning how Roger used to get anything done without him. “Play for some money. We only need a couple bucks.”

“So I’m going to do all that work while you just stand there.”

“Hey, that’s what you wanted me to do in your plan,” Mark shrugged.

“Fine. I’ll go earn us some money.” Roger turned sharply, heading towards the exit while gracefully avoiding the group of children running past.

“You’re earning the money for yourself. You’re the one who wanted this damn thing, remember?” Mark shifted the pumpkin on his hip, trying to get comfortable.

Roger turned around, walking backwards and throwing his arms up in the air. “Why do you have to be all smart and right all the time?”

“It’s a curse,” Mark chuckled as Roger tripped over a pumpkin, keeping himself from falling to the ground at the last minute. “Now, get moving you pretty boy front man.”

“I’m a what?” Roger asked, confusion showing on his face for the umpteenth time, narrowly avoiding the young couple walking by.

“It doesn’t matter, now go!” Mark laughed as a father glared at Roger, who had almost bowled the man’s daughter over.

“Fine, fine! I’m going! Jeez…” 

Roger moved outside the chain link fence, shoving his hands into his pockets. He quickly pulled his guitar off his back, placing the case on the ground in front of him. Mark smiled, moving closer to get a better shot. He couldn’t quite hear from inside the restricted section of the pumpkin lot and, judging by the look the vendor was giving him, he wouldn’t be allowed to move any closer. He could just pick out a few strains of the song Roger was playing.

“Twist and turn me, bait and burn me. Smile and send me to oblivion. Breathe and bathe me, be and save me. Know I’m just here to the left of you…”

Roger finished his song, packing up his guitar and slinging it back over his shoulder. He turned around, waving the crumpled bills at Mark as he made his way over.

“Here. Five bucks,” Roger grinned, shoving the bills in towards the camera focused on him.

“Already?” Mark poked at the money, confirming that it was indeed real.

“Yeah.”

“We should do this more often,” Mark said quietly, focusing his camera in on the face of George Washington. Roger looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “Well, you should do that more often.”

Roger grinned widely, pushing the camera down and leaning in closely to Mark, tugging gently on the ever present striped scarf. “Don’t think I don’t know about your time on the street corner,” he whispered conspiratorially, his eyebrows wagging suggestively.

“So I sing some show tunes for money,” Mark shrugged, pulling back and bringing his camera back up, “Don’t say it like I’m whoring myself out or something.”

“Yeah yeah. The sun’ll come out tomorrow! Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there’ll be sun! Just oof! What the fuck!?” Roger desperately grappled with the orange mass that was shoved into his arms, successfully keeping it from meeting an untimely end.

“Take your pumpkin and go pay the nice man now,” Mark chirped, pointing towards the grizzled vendor that was glaring over at them.

“What if I want to pick a different one?” Roger pretended to put the pumpkin back on the ground as he grinned up at Mark.

“He had it coming. He had it coming. He only had himself to blame. If you’d have been there. If you’d have seen it. I betcha you would have done the same!”

“I’m going, I’m going. Jeez, somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“Personally, I like waking up calmly and breathing deeply, not wet and sputtering.”

“I said I was sorry already! What more do you want?” Roger shouted, throwing his head back in frustration.

“You never said you were sorry.”

“Oh,” Roger, turned back towards the pale Bohemian, his expression sheepish. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Roger perked up immediately, the grin plastered back on his face as a little boy pulled his father along a few feet away.

“Can we go now?” Mark sighed, his free hand resting on his hip.

“Ok. I’ll go pay.” Roger trotted off, handing a few bills to the vendor. The man looked suspiciously up at the guitarist, almost questioning if the money was real. Roger only smiled back before returning to where Mark was standing. The cameraman swiftly made his way out the exit, heading back to the loft. Roger jogged after him, clutching his pumpkin with joy.

“Do you know how we’re going to carve it?” Mark asked, finally placing his camera back in his bag. He slowed down, walking backwards to address the unusually cheerful musician.

“Yup,” Roger answered, just smiling without any indication of elaborating.

“Well?” Mark’s eyebrows shot up, trying to draw out an answer.

“It’s a surprise,” Roger responded, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Last time you said that I had green hair for a week.”

“C’mon. That looked awesome!”

“Mimi put me in an orange sweatshirt and said I was a carrot,” Mark responded, turning around. He fingered his hair gently, painful flashbacks darting through his mind.

“A very cute carrot.”

Mark looked down at the ground, hiding his grin. “Whatever. Let’s just get inside.”

“It didn’t really take that long.”

“Four hours and twenty-seven minutes,” Mark said matter-of-factly.

“Really?”

“That’s not even including the walk over. If you include that…”

“Mark.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” Mark challenged, spinning around. “Oof! What was that for?”

Roger laughed as Mark wrapped his arms around the pumpkin. “You said, quote, ‘make me.’ I was just doing what you told me to.”

“Yeah, now you listen to me.”

Roger grinned back at him, obviously with no intentions of taking the glorified squash back.

Mark sighed. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“You loooooove me!” Roger yelled out, circling Mark with his arms clasped behind his back.

“Yeah, whatever,” Mark muttered, dodging the shouting man.

“C’mon Marky. Say it.” Roger moved in front, blocking Mark from moving by.

“It.” Mark easily sidestepped past, continuing on.

“C’mon, you know you want to.” Roger trotted forward, once again blocking the pumpkin bearing boy.

“Want to what? Hey! Stop it! Put me down!” Roger swung Mark up into the air as the smaller man clung to the pumpkin in his arms. Mark’s legs kicked out frantically, trying to regain contact with the pavement.

“Not till you say it!” Roger swung Mark back and forth, the movement causing Mark’s head to shake like one of those dolls that are given away at baseball games.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Fine! iloveyou,” Mark muttered quietly.

“I can’t hear you Marky!” Roger shouted, swinging him around some more.

“I LOVE YOU! NOW PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN!” Mark glared at Roger as a mother walked by, glaring at the two as she covered her daughter’s ears.

“Fine. Sheesh. No need to get upset.” Roger rolled his eyes, continuing on as if nothing had happened.

“Let’s just get back to the loft and carve this stupid thing.” Mark jogged to catch up, his shorter legs moving rapidly.

“Ok. Oh, and Mark…” Roger paused, stopping to look down at the filmmaker.

“Yeah?” Mark questioned, looking up. He reached up to fix his glasses, which had been jostled in his near death experience.

“I love you too.”

Mark blushed as Roger took the pumpkin back, easily holding it with one arm. The singer slipped his other hand into Mark’s with a wide smile. “C’mon,” Mark indicated the loft above them with his thumb. “We’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to have that Halloween party tomorrow.”

“This is going to be great! We’ll carve this, then we’ll go to the store, get lots of chips and cheese and Stoli and candy, then we can go get some orange lights and hang them all over the loft, and we can go get some of those really cheap costumes, and then we can…”

“Roger.”

“Yeah?”

Mark smiled gently, leaning into the leather clad body. “Shut up.”


End file.
